Mighty Man Noodles
by equalistmako
Summary: Mako attempts to give Bolin "The Talk". (Warning: bad puns/metaphors lie ahead. This story is pure Crack. Proceed with caution.)


_Warning: Bad metaphors, stupid puns, and awkwardness in general lie ahead. This is nightblogging in fic-form. Proceed at your own risk._

Mako sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair as he stared at his brother's bedroom door.

It felt as if it were only yesterday that Bolin still believed in the Tooth Fairy. He could still remember sneaking over to Bolin's sleeping bag in the middle of the night ((decked out in full costume— just in case Bolin woke up, of course)) to replace his tooth with a Yuan. He could still remember the excited gleam in Bolin's eye the next morning when he'd run over to Mako and proudly proclaim that he was finally contributing financially.

Whenever he looked at his brother, he still saw that hyper little kid with a perpetual blush on his chubby cheeks. It was difficult for Mako to make himself see that those cheeks were slowly losing their baby fat and becoming more defined. It was difficult for him to acknowledge that Bolin was growing up.

Bolin had always practically been his baby.

And now, as much as it hurt him to realize it, that baby was becoming a man.

He'd dreaded this day for a while.

He knew it had to happen some time; however, he never anticipated it'd happen so _soon_.

But there was no denying his brother's barely-concealed lustful gazes at various women on the street. There was no denying the risque magazines Mako had found underneath Bolin's bed. There was no denying that Bolin had been spending more and more time in the shower lately.

But how was he supposed to approach the situation?

He could kick the door open dramatically and congratulate Bolin on his transition into manhood; however, he knew he wouldn't be able to treat the door so harshly.

_"This,"_ he whispered, running his hand over the door reverently, _"is hand-carved mahogany…"_

There was also no telling what Bolin could be doing on the other side of that door. He shuddered. There were some things that were impossible to un-see— and _that_ would be at the tippy top of that list.

He supposed knocking would be his best bet and did just that.

"Come in!" he heard Bolin call out.

He ran a hand through his hair nervously before plastering a fake smile on his face and entering the room.

"Hey, Mako," Bolin said distractedly as he doodled in a small notebook, "what do you want?"

Mako's mind blanked.

He … had no idea what he was doing in there.

He couldn't recall what he was going to say to Bolin. He couldn't remember why he was in his brother's room. He couldn't even remember how to speak.

What was the date? _Where_ was he? _Who_ was he?

He could feel his palms and forehead sweating. The room around him began to spin, which was, in his opinion, rather rude of the room.

He grasped onto Bolin's dresser as he tried to steady himself. There was something on the dresser in front of him, but he couldn't quite make out what it was through his blurred vision.

As his eyes began to focus, he was met with the sight of some lady's voluptuous breasts. He blinked and looked at it closer. Yep. Definitely boobies. Bolin was a great artist.

And then it dawned on him why he was in there. He had to give Bolin _The Talk._

He took a deep breath and decided to just go for it. He _had_ to do it— now or never. He had nothing to lose but his dignity.

"… Mako? …are you okay? You don't look so go—"

"CONGRATULATIONS," Mako yelled, turning around to face his brother.

Bolin jumped a bit in surprise, dropping his pencil on the ground in front of him.

"C-congrat… wait _why_?"

"I see _all_, Bolin. I'm like the narrator of a story told in the past tense, third person omniscient point of view—"

"—what the hell are you talking about?" Bolin interrupted, staring at his older brother as if he'd suddenly grown a second head.

"I'm talking about your journey into manhood, my duck-haired comrade. Your transition into manitude. Your metamorphosis from a little caterpillar to a motherfuckingmoth. A moth of manliness. A mo—"

"— oh spirits, _please_ tell me you're not trying to—"

"I'm here to help guide you across the bridge of puberty, mon frère," Mako continued, ignoring Bolin's outburst, "I'm here to make sure you dont get pushed off of the bridge or forced across it before you're ready. I'm here to answer any and all questions you may have … using awkward metaphors and weird allusions. "

Mako ran a hand through his hair and looked around Bolin's room. He spotted a bowl of noodles sitting on Bolin's desk.

"Like… Noodles."

"… noodles?" Bolin asked in a resigned manner.

"Yep. _Noodles_. You see… the noodles we buy are usually… _hard._"

Bolin groaned exasperatedly, burying his head in his hands.

"It's only natural for the noodles to be this way. They can't help themselves. But it isn't acceptable for them to stay that way in front of people. They need to be boiled and softened before they can be socially accepted as delicious noodles."

He ignored the banging coming from Bolin smacking his head against his desk repeatedly.

"So, in public, you have to remember to boil away any and all thoughts that could leave your noodle… hard."

Mako picked up the bowl of noodles and picked some of them up with a chopstick.

"It's also okay to cook your noodle… it's actually quite fun, really. You can even play around and find different, exciting, and new ways to cook it each time."

"Are you really—"

"—and then, some day," Mako continued, wincing slightly, "you might get the urge to put your_noodle_ in someone's… _dish_."

"MAKO!"

"But you have to be careful… because… uh… you might accidentally spill too much of your noodle into the dish and create an entirely new _meal_ before you're hungry enough to enjoy it."

Bolin's face was bright red. Mako was sure his own face was a similar shade.

"Uh, I mean, it's okay to enjoy putting your noodle into someone else's dish. It's also great if you can find someone who enjoys the taste of your noodle…"

"…_Please stop._.."

"… but you have to be sure to … uh… use the proper _utensils_. To prevent spilling."

He played with the noodles in the bowl absentmindedly.

"Oh! And once you start putting your noodle into someone's dish, you can then spice things up with—"

"That's it," Bolin said, jumping up from his desk and pushing his brother out of his room, "I can't take any more of this. Out. Now."

"But—"

"—_goodnight_." Bolin snapped before slamming the door in Mako's face.

Mako found himself once again staring at the mahogany door in front of him.

"I should really write a book about this," he mused out loud.

"I'll call it… _Mighty Man Noodles_."

He could hear Bolin's groan of despair from the other side of the door.

He smiled to himself.

Even though his brother was growing up, it was still nice to know that some things would never change. They could still bicker and get under each other's skin just as they had their entire lives. It helped somewhat soothe some of his anxiety regarding the situation.

He walked away from Bolin's room with a bounce in his step, heading straight for the kitchen.

All that talk about noodles had made him hungry.


End file.
